


Sunday, Stimmy Sunday

by yesgalaxies



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Autistic Leo Fitz, Background FitzSkimmons brotp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Pre-Simmorse, Self-Doubt, Stimming, Team as Family, autistic Jemma Simmons, mama may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesgalaxies/pseuds/yesgalaxies
Summary: Written for Autism Acceptance Month."Whenever Bobbi’s around, Jemma feels this fluttery sensation in her chest that she hasn’t before. It isn’t that unpleasant."





	Sunday, Stimmy Sunday

The first Sunday they are off-saving-the-world-duty since Bobbi and Hunter has joined the team, Jemma is nervous. She remembered telling Bobbi, that on Sundays, whenever they could, everyone usually meets in the rec room in the morning and they eat breakfast and watch cartoons together in their pajamas; that it reminds her of her childhood. She wonders if Bobbi will show up. Jemma sort of hopes she will. She’d like to get to know her better, spend time with her. Maybe become friends. Whenever Bobbi’s around, Jemma feels this fluttery sensation in her chest that she hasn’t before. It isn’t that unpleasant.

She’s surprised to see that Coulson’s already down in the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee when she walks by on her way to the TV room. It isn’t even 7am yet, and for a minute she thinks he’s going to tell her to get dressed, that they have a mission, but he doesn’t. He takes out a box of _Oops! All berries_ cereals and asks if she wants some. She doesn’t. She hates their granular texture. All that sugar.

In the rec room, she flips on a side lamp, bathing the room in just enough light not to bump into furniture or walk on pieces of Legos. Jemma sits down in her usual spot, tucking her legs beneath her. She’s feeling restless: an odd, anxious energy is thrumming through her body, but at the same time, she feels exhausted. She had a hard time falling asleep the night before. Her brain wouldn’t shut off; too busy trying to come up with nice things to casually say to Bobbi. Casual being the keyword.

Jemma could only think of highly inappropriate things like, ‘You have really nice hair, I’d really like to touch it. I bet it smells amazing’ (she has actually smelled Bobbi’s hair when she was undercover in HYDRA, but she wonders if Bobbi used a different shampoo then) and ‘You’re so beautiful, I’d like to touch your face and put my lips right over yours’. She’ll have to get pointers from Skye. Although, May always says subtlety isn’t an art Skye has mastered… Maybe she should ask May, or maybe not. It would be awkward, for both of them, Jemma figures.

She must have seem preoccupied because Coulson asks, “Everything okay, Jemma?” as he walks in, carrying a slightly overflowing cereal bowl, his newspaper tucked under his arm.

“Hm? Oh, yes, thank you. I just didn’t sleep very well is all,” she answers truthfully.

Coulson grabs the remote on the coffee table and turns the telly on. Jemma doesn’t even notice what’s playing, too focused on her thoughts about Bobbi.

But it’s still dark, and she’s sleepy. Jemma is lulled by the sound of Coulson’s spoon scrapping the porcelain bowl and the crunchy, slurpy noise he makes as he chews.

**

“Morning.”

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knows, Bobbi is standing in front of her, smiling, holding two cups of steaming tea.

“Ah. Good morning,” Jemma murmurs, a bit disoriented. She blinks tentatively, trying to adjust to the light. She rights her posture and discovers that someone has placed her weighted blanket on her lap. The slight pressure grounds her and she’s grateful for it.

Bobbi takes the seat next to her and passes her a cup that she accepts appreciatively albeit a bit reluctantly. She hopes it doesn’t show on her face. Jemma is very peculiar about her tea, she’ll drink it one way, and one way only. Only Fitz knows how to make it just the way she likes, but she doesn’t want to hurt Bobbi’s feeling if the tea isn’t to her taste.

“Thanks.” Bobbi’s fingers brush hers and she blushes. Only then does Jemma realize that Bobbi is standing next to her, talking to her. She forces herself to glance around the room so she wouldn’t stare openly at Bobbi.

Skye is slumped on one of the couches, still half asleep. Jemma knows Skye sets an alarm on Sundays so she doesn’t miss out on what Coulson calls “family time”. Skye shifts, and the mug of (what Jemma supposes is) coffee propped on her thigh tips precariously forward. May catches it just before its content spills over and steals the mug away from Skye who grumbles incoherently.

“How many times do I have to tell you? No coffee until you can keep your eyes open for more than thirty seconds,” May huffs. She swallows a sip of Skye’s drink and grimaces.

“That’s the point of coffee,” Skye protests.

“That’s not coffee,” May retorts, settling in next to her on the couch, “it’s sugary sludge.”

There’s something reassuringly dad-like about Coulson, sitting in the recliner, wearing his glasses, a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Sunday morning is the only time they ever see him wearing fuzzy slippers and one of his well-worn Captain America t-shirts.

Fitz appears next, mumbling “good morning” to everyone. He is doing better, stuttering a little less, smiling more, Jemma notices. He’s wearing the _Doctor Who_ pj bottoms she got him for his last birthday.

Jemma waves him hello. Fitz plops himself down on the floor, right in front of her, next to Hunter who’s weirdly into the _Captain America_ documentary Coulson probably put on while she was asleep.

Jemma takes a tentative sip of the tea Bobbi has prepared for her. It’s good: perfect temperature, with just a dash of milk and a drop of honey. Bobbi paid attention, noticed how Jemma drinks her tea, or maybe Fitz simply told her. Still, it makes Jemma flush with happiness.

“Can’t we watch something else?” Skye complains.

“It’s a special episode,” Coulson says matter-of-factly.

“That you’ve seen at least eight times,” Skye grumbles, rolling her eyes. “You’re not even watching, you’re reading!”

“I am listening.”

“Phil,” May says, decisively.

“Alright, alright.” He tosses the remote to Skye who reacts a second too late.

“Ouch. What should we watch?”

“Steven Universe?” Fitz suggests, and everyone approves.

Jemma loves the show. When Skye first introduced her to it, she watched the same five episodes until she had all the lines memorized.

Over the rim of her cup, Jemma catches sight of Fitz, flapping happily in front of her. She smiles. It makes her happy to see him stimming without any restraints. He has come such a long way since the first time she met him at the Academy. He’s more open, less self-conscious. Jemma is so proud of him and thankful for the team’s patience, supporting him no matter what.

Without any real conscious thoughts, Jemma follows Fitz’s lead. She starts by squeezing her free hand into a fist a couple of times, and then rubs her fist onto her hair. She likes the swooshing sound it makes; it’s calming. She doesn’t even realize she’s rocking until Bobbi takes her cup away from her, the remains of her tea sloshing wildly in her mug.

“Oh, sorry,” Jemma apologizes, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. For a moment, Jemma has forgotten where she is and who she’s with, wrapped up in her own world. She knows she shouldn’t apologize, but she can’t help feeling like maybe she’s bothering Bobbi with all her bouncing next to her.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Bobbi assures, smiling at her warmly. “I just didn’t want you to burn yourself.”

Bobbi sounds genuine enough, so Jemma smiles back at her, and keeps swaying back and forth, except now she’s more aware of her movements. Fitz is still flapping, his curls bouncing on his head. Jemma wants to wiggle her fingers through his hair, but she’s been told enough about boundaries that she settles for her own hair instead and focuses her attention back on the TV.

Hunter says something Jemma doesn’t quite catch, and Bobbi hums in response.

Jemma hums too. She doesn’t mean to echo her, but she likes the way it sounds. The way the air vibrates low in her throat and moves slowly upward and bounces on her back teeth; the way it makes her mouth shake. She hums low and deep, quietly at first and then goes on progressively louder. She’s not usually a vocal stimmer, but humming is nice. Once she realizes what she’s doing she clamps down her jaw tightly, and falls quiet. She doesn’t know if it’s because of Bobbi’s presence, but Jemma is mortified.

“Excuse me,” Jemma mumbles as she gets up, her blanket falling on Fitz, before pooling at her feet. She stumbles, bumping her knees on Fitz’s shoulder.

“Ay!”

She’s aware of Skye calling after her, asking where she’s going, if she’s okay, but Jemma ignores her. She needs to get away, fast.

**

Even though Jemma knows she has nothing to be ashamed of, she’s still embarrassed. She likes Bobbi. A lot. She doesn’t want to scare her away. She wonders not for the first time if she’ll ever get a girlfriend, if she’ll ever fall in love. She knows she’s not exactly _normal_.

She sighs, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. May would be so angry with her if she could hear her thoughts right now. ‘There is no normal,’ she’d say. ‘Normal is relative.’ ‘You do you, others can deal with it.’ Agent May is remarkably supportive of Jemma and Fitz stimming freely; supportive of everyone in general. Nobody on the team would ever tell her or Fitz to just stop or to keep it down. So why did she suddenly feel so bad about it? She can’t stop replaying an old memory in the back of her mind. For some reason, she’s hung to it all these years.

_“I don’t need Jemma to come to the park with me,” her little brother whines. “I’m old enough! She scares my friends away with her weird noises! She doesn’t know how to act normal.”_

**

When Jemma doesn’t come back after quite a while, Coulson puts his newspaper down, makes a show of looking over his shoulder and suggests what Skye and Fitz have been thinking for a while.

“Shouldn’t we maybe go check on Jemma? May? Eh, I can go,” he says, leaning forward to get out of his chair.

“Maybe I should go,” Bobbi says, “I feel like it’s my fault she left.”

“She’s fine,” May states, her tone neutral, but gets up anyway. She exchanges a glance with Coulson who nods.

**

She finds Jemma pacing in the lab, humming loudly, almost angrily, her fingers pressed into her neck; something she does when she feels overwhelmed. She looks nothing like the happy stimming kid she was moments ago.

“Jemma?”

Jemma flips around, facing May. Her eyes are red, slightly unfocused, and May thinks maybe she should’ve come find her sooner. She hopes they aren’t threading meltdown territory.

“May, is anything wrong?” She tries to sound professional, collected, but she knows she’s not fooling anyone. She turns her back to her, as fresh tears slowly run down her cheeks. Jemma doesn’t particularly want May to see her like this.

"Why did you leave?" May asks calmly.

"I was being loud."

"So?"

"I thought I'd come in here so I wouldn't disturb anyone."

"You know that's not what I meant," May says firmly, but not unkindly. "Did anyone say anything or stare at you in a way that made you uncomfortable?" She already knows the answer, only wants Jemma to say it.

"No..."

“Alright, so I’ll ask again, why did you leave?”

Why did she leave? Jemma isn’t sure. She has a complicated enough time figuring out how she’s feeling most of the time, she doesn’t know why she has had such an emotional reaction to Bobbi seeing her. She hasn’t even said anything to Jemma. Hasn’t even looked at her… That’s it. Bobbi pretended she didn’t notice Jemma’s vocal stim. Coulson has looked up from his paper and now she remembers Skye saying something like “stim party!”, but Bobbi has kept her eyes fixed on the telly as if she were uncomfortable. 

Jemma can feel May’s gaze on her back, waiting patiently for her to say something.

“I don’t want Bobbi to feel awkward around me. I…I like Bobbi!" she blurts out. "I like her and I think she's just...the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, and she's so incredibly smart and she smells like a strawberry field on a sunny, summer day, and I...I don't want her to only see me as the genius, autistic girl who she comes to think of as her little sister!"

Jemma turns to face May, and sees Bobbi standing there too.

If she didn’t know it to be statistically improbable, she’d wish for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Heat rises to her face, her face flushing with indignation and embarrassment. How could May not warn her!

“I’ll leave you two kids alone,” May simply says before exiting the lab.

“I. Uhm. I didn’t know you were here. Obviously,” Jemma starts, flustered. “I am so sorry. If I had known I –”

“Jemma, stop. Please, I. Listen,” Bobbi interrupts, seeming just as awkward, “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m the one who should. I’m truly sorry for how I acted, for how my actions were perceived. I didn’t want _you_ to feel self-conscious around me. I guess I went the wrong way about it, but it wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad or for you to think you make me uncomfortable, because you don’t.”

Jemma who has been looking at her socked feet until now glances up at Bobbi curiously.

“And, maybe I do see you as the, and I quote ‘genius, autistic girl’, but that’s because it’s who you are. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” Bobbi goes on. She’s looks so sincere, Jemma is stunned.

“And I’m sorry if I ever said anything to make you think that I’d never see you as a romantic interest; I could, I do,” she breathes out the last word quietly, but then she meets Jemma’s eyes and continues, “How could I not? You’re fiercely loyal, kind, crazy intelligent, you are passionate and so authentic. Jemma, whoever doesn’t see how beautiful you are is an idiot.”

Jemma takes a while to process this. All of this. She’s got that fluttery feeling in her chest again, only this time it is blooming into something else. Something warm and fuzzy that pools in her stomach. She cries a little, but she’s pretty confident they are happy tears. She wants to ask Bobbi to repeat certain parts, especially the one when she called Jemma beautiful, but in the end all she can say is, “Would you like to get ice cream?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Bobbi shrugs “Sure, why not.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)  
> You can find me @yesgalaxies on tumblr. Feel free to drop me a prompt! x


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